This afternoon, I thought I'd kill some time and generate some dopamine by going on a Macy's > Burlington > TJ Maxx run. This particular Macy's has always been one of my favorite stores because the men's fitting rooms are right next to the women's and juniors' (Don't hate: I favor a youthful look, and the cuts are a little better suited to my body) departments. No-one's ever tending the men's rooms, so I have a pleasant DADT relationship with this store.

Anyways, I checked out a couple of men's garments, no luck. Made a run to women's - nothing good for the price. I hit up the juniors', and came up equally stumped. As usual, I left all the garments on the rack at the fitting room door. On my way into the mall, a couple of long skirts and tops caught my eye, so I grabbed a selection and went back to the room. As I was about 2/3 of the way through the possible combos, I heard the rustling of someone at the unwanted clothing rack, moving hangars around. I didn't think much of it, except that I might be greeted with a pair of wide eyes when I emerged.

Then the guy walks back into the dressing rooms, apparently to see if any are occupied. I hear him beep onto his radio, and to my surprise, I hear him say "Yeah, I'm going to need to see the camera on C. There's, uh, a bunch of women's and juniors' clothing here in the men's fitting room." I could hear the palpable excitement in his voice as it shook, as if he'd caught a predator, or was about to lay into a burglar in his home with a bat.

Sheez, I thought. I'm going to be dragged into some upstairs office by this ignoramus and grilled about why I was trying on Jessica Simpson dresses in the men's room. Just a bit ruffled, I went through the rest of the clothes and decided I didn't want any of them. What appetite for fashion I had remaining had disappeared.

And so I went out to face the music, mentally sharpening a few good barbs. "Oh, have I violated some sort of ordinance?", "I'm sorry, I was unaware my credit card isn't welcome at this establishment," "Is this because my top clashes with the skirt?", etc. I placed the rest of my items on the rack and casually scanned about. It didn't appear that I was being watched. Perhaps he'd gone to grab his taser off its charger.

I didn't really care to linger and find out. I had more stores left to hit, and I wasn't in the mood to answer questions that no-one had any business asking - even if they would result in my demanding a store credit at the conclusion of the proceedings.

It's just funny. I've gotten so used to unhindered shopping, that it was quite a surprise to realize I'd raised someone's hackles, just going about my business. It's easy to forget that some DBs are out there, convinced that our community must be committing some kind of crime. Disappointing, really.

A quick aside: after I left the mall, I went across the street to Burlington. On my way out of the fitting room there, I chuckled to see a couple of skirts and cut-off tops hanging on the rack - as I often see ladies' garments hanging there. I've never gotten any more than a raised eyebrow at that store. Apparently they get a little more trans-traffic than the local Macy's.

C'est la vie, I guess...